


grasp

by Ladoga



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angband, Elements of Horror, M/M, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 13:36:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13124823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladoga/pseuds/Ladoga
Summary: "He wakes and the ground under him is writhing."(Someone drew my attention to a lack of Sauron/Maitimo tentaclerape.)





	grasp

He wakes and the ground under him is writhing. 

It is dark - not with lack of light but with blackness, eyesight barely penetrating it.

The ground is not ground.

He curls into himself. He does not know why he does it anymore - as though he can hide, as though he can cover himself with his own body. (He has nothing else).

_ -Now, Maitimo... _ -

Morgoth’s lieutenant’s voice in his head is different than when he is in Elven form - a whisper like something against the grain. He shudders. He does not know why he does that anymore either, except he can do nothing for it.

Something - long and writhing like the ground, not rough and not smooth but  _ wrong _ against his skin like the voice is - takes his wrists. Pulls them together behind his back, then shifts and twists them up instead, until his shoulders burn and protest. 

Another - more black than the darkness, so he can  _ see _ it as it comes - stops before his lips. He does not open his mouth, clenches his teeth together until his jaw might ache. The - tentacle - presses against his lips and curls.

_ -So obstinate, Maitimo. You know your body is mine if I want it. If you will try to keep it from me, I will have to take it- _

It is like missing something in a blink - the darkness pulses in some way and then his mouth is open, the tentacle forcing its way into him. He feels like he might choke, or vomit, or both, tries to flinch away and there is nowhere. (The voice in his head sounds like amusement with no words.)

More somethings twine around his legs, crawl up him. His robe - rough and tattered but he still wraps himself in it - gives him nothing of protection. Another tentacle presses against him elsewhere, and his legs are held in place, and there is nothing he can try to hold closed even for a moment. He screams and the one in his throat drinks it in, moves like it savors it. 

It is hard to judge time in the dark. His body tries to curl in on itself again and is pulled apart, the pieces of the blackness that are on him (in him) burning in reprimand. 

He cannot make it stop. His muscle seize, his body trembles as - it - pushes into him. More tentacles come to wrap him, hold him still. In the space left in their hold he shivers. Pain forces tears from his eyes and the darkness drinks them as well, a touch on his cheek almost gentle. 

 

He does not know if it is passing out, what he does. Maybe the voice in his head turns to darkness. Maybe they drop him and he falls through the not-ground. He does not think he hits the floor, but it is like a blink again and he - wakes - back in his cell, cold stone under him and darkness that is only the absence of light. He gets to his knees in time to vomit on the floor.

His body hurts - outside and inside. A few times in light he’s seen himself, strange scars with black outlines. Something pulls against his leg and he flinches, hard, but it is the chain, it is only the chain, hard cold metal he can touch if he wants to. 

 

He curls on the floor and wraps himself in his robe and shakes against the (solid) stone.


End file.
